The Journey (42 page)

Ben smiled inwardly. Already, because of what Arthur had told of Lucy’s strength of character, and because he had witnessed it for himself from the moment they met, Ben knew he was being tested, and he suspected her view of him would hinge on the kind of answer he gave.

“Well, young man?” As was her way, Lucy grew impatient.

Ben considered the question again, and when he answered it was as straight an answer as he could give. “Any man would be prepared to do whatever was in his power to protect his loved ones,” he told her, “but like a grain of sand or a drop of rain, each man is different. A man will be judged on his merit. Barney Davidson is the kind of man every other man would want to be, but I’m not Barney, nor could I ever be. All the same, I would hope that, given the same circumstances, I might find the courage and fortitude to do what he did. Other than that, I can’t say.”

There was a moment while they reflected on his words, before Mary asked of her mother, “What happened to my father? How did it end?”

Lucy gave a whimsical smile, “It ended the way we always thought it might end,” she said. “It was the most beautiful summer’s evening. We were sitting in the garden watching the sun go down, when Barney turned to me and told me how much he had come to love me … but that he could never love me in the same way that he loved Joanne. She had been his life, while I had become his life.”

Lucy thought about Barney’s words, just as she had done on that memorable night. “I often wondered about that,” she said, “I thought it a strange thing for him to say, and for a time I couldn’t understand his meaning.”

Looking up at Mary, she took hold of her hand. “After a while, I did understand. What he meant was that he and Joanne had grown together, learned together and knew each other’s very thoughts …”

She paused, “… with me it was different. When Barney and I met, I simply became part of the family that was already Barney’s; I was an outsider coming in. But then suddenly it was just the two of us, and we learned to know and love each other. Like Ben said just now, he could not be Barney … any more than I could be Joanne. We’re all different and we touch each other’s lives in different ways. But love is love, no matter which way you look at it.”

“Thank you,” she said gravely, and he knew he had passed the test. “Love
is
love, and that’s what we had, me and Barney. We had such love to share, just talking and laughing and simply being together. And if I never have another day of contentment, I had more happiness in those two years with Barney, than most women have in a lifetime.”

Suddenly, Lucy shivered. “I’m tired now, my darling,” she told her daughter. “Take me back to my bed?”

Mary took her upstairs and when Lucy was made comfortable, the young woman asked, “Did you ever hear from Joanne, or the family?”

Lucy shook her head. “No, never.” Fearing that Mary had too many questions to which she might not have the answers, Lucy told her, “For reasons I hope you now understand, Barney did not want them to know about you.”

“So I have two brothers and a sister I may never see?” Though Mary had been deeply touched by the story of her father, she felt cheated somehow, filled with all kinds of regrets, regrets that she had never known him, and regrets that she was never told the truth. But now she knew it all, and it was as though a cloud was lifted from over her head. But what of the rest of her family?

“Will I ever meet them—Thomas and Ronnie, and my sister Susie?”

Lucy was not ready for this. “Leave me now, love,” she said. “Let me sleep.”

Quietly, Mary left. Tomorrow, when her mother was rested, she would ask again. And she would keep on asking, until Lucy agreed to reunite her with the family she had never known.

It was much later that Arthur tapped on Lucy’s bedroom door to check on her. Ben had gone home and Mary was in bed. Lucy herself was sitting up in bed, awake but at peace with herself.

“Ben is so much like Barney,” Lucy murmured. She had Barney strong in her mind tonight.

“Tell me something,” Arthur asked. “Do you think you will ever contact Joanne?”

“I made a promise never to tell them,” she sighed. “You made that same promise.”

“I know, and I’ve always regretted it. I kept it when Barney was alive, and I’ve kept it all these years, apart from informing Mr. Maitland of his death, as Barney requested. But I’ve never felt comfortable about it, Lucy. I think they have a right to know why he did what he did, the same as Mary had a right to know. God only knows how they have suffered all these years.”

When she remained silent, he asked her again. “
Will
you tell them, Lucy?
Will
you contact Joanne?”

Unable to answer such a momentous question, Lucy thought fleetingly of her daughter and Ben, and her heart was glad. There was magic happening between those two.

“I love you, Lucy.” Arthur’s voice was so close to her ear, she felt his warm breath against her skin.

“I know.” She turned to smile on him. “I’ve always known.”

“You never said.”

“Because there would have been no point and I might have hurt your feelings. You see, I didn’t love you back.”

“Do you love me back now?”

“I think so.” She turned away. “You realize I could never love you in the same way I loved Barney?”

“Will you marry me?”

“We’re too old in the tooth for that nonsense,” she laughed. But secretly she felt quite excited. She had had two children by two very different men—one full of darkness and one full of light—and yet had never been married. Maybe that was the next experience that Fate had in store for her.

For now, the moment passed and they were quiet again.

“When you get in touch with Joanne,” Arthur persisted, “will you tell her what Barney did for them?” Taking Lucy by the shoulders, he turned her round to face him. “I know Leonard Maitland gave you his address. You can get in touch if you want to,” he said. “They won’t have moved from the farm.”

Lucy patted the tip of her nose in a gesture of secrecy. “I might—and I might not.” Her smile grew mischievous. “But that’s another story altogether, don’t you think?”

Arthur knew that when Lucy was in this strange mood of hers, there was no reasoning with her. He kissed her then—not the kiss of a lover, but the kiss of someone who knew her well. “Good night, Lucy.” Smiling resignedly, he shook his head. “Sleep tight.”

For a while after he’d gone, she continued to gaze at the little photograph still lying on the eiderdown. It was the only picture she had of Barney, and it was her treasure. Taken on the day he took delivery of his new tractor, Barney stood beside it, a proud man, while Leonard Maitland recorded the moment forever.

Taking the photograph into her hands and looking down, she let herself be drawn back over the years, to summertimes and harvests, and picnics and laughter, when Jamie was always at her side and in her heart. There were glorious times with the Davidson family, all together and not a cloud in their sky.

“Happy days,” she murmured. “But it’s not the end, my darlings.”

Replacing the photograph, she glanced again toward the window, where outside, new love was beginning.

“Your father’s story is the most remarkable I’ve ever heard.” Ben had been deeply shaken by the turn of this night’s events, and if he lived to be a hundred, he would never forget the man who was Barney Davidson.

“I never knew,” Mary answered thoughtfully. “All these years and I never knew.”

“Your mother said you looked like him.” Ben observed her small pretty face, and he had an urge to take her in his arms, “You have such a calmness about you, I can imagine you must also have inherited some of his character traits as well.”

Mary smiled. “I hope so.”

“I’m glad we met.” Reaching out he took hold of her hand, and to his delight she did not draw it away. “Do you think we might have a future together, you and me?”

Thrilled by his remark, her answer was to lean forward and kiss him. She looked into those dark, sincere eyes and at the strong set of his jaw and that air of confidence about him, and she thought of all that had passed long ago.

But that was not her life. This was her life, her’s and Ben’s, and suddenly, when she felt his loving arms about her, she knew it was where she belonged, with this man who she hardly knew, and yet she felt as though she had known him forever.

“You still haven’t answered me, Mary.” His voice was soft in her ear. “You haven’t said if you think we might have a future together?”

Turning her head, she looked up at him, “Yes,” her smile was content, “I think we might.”

Lucy saw it all. She saw them kiss, and she saw the tenderness in his embrace, and it made her think of Barney. “I hope you find happiness together,” she whispered.

Wearied and content, Lucy climbed into bed. For a while she lay awake, her mind back there where it all took place. It had been an amazing adventure. But it was not yet over.

For now, though, it was time to reflect, and be thankful.

A major bestselling author in her native Great Britain, JOSEPHINE COX’s story is as extraordinary as anything in her books. At the age of sixteen, she met and married her husband, Ken, and had two sons. When her sons began school, Cox decided to go to college, eventually gaining a place at Cambridge University which she was unable to accept. Becoming a teacher, she set about renovating a derelict council house as the family home, coping with the problems of her own mother’s unhappy home life while writing her first full-length novel—all of which earned her a Superwoman of Great Britain Award after her family secretly entered her in the contest. Currently living in Bedfordshire, England, she gave up teaching to write full-time and is the author of nearly three dozen novels.

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Quennie’s Story

H
ER
F
ATHER’S
S
INS
• L
ET
L
OOSE THE
T
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The Emma Grady Trilogy

O
UTCAST
• A
LLEY
U
RCHIN
• V
AGABONDS

A
NGELS
C
RY
S
OMETIMES
• T
AKE
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W
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W
HISTLEDOWN
W
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• D
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J
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G
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• N
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D
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B
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S
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• M
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A L
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• L
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OU
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NOW
• A T
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C
RADLE OF
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• M
ISS
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L
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• T
OMORROW THE
W
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T
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• S
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, S
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• L
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• J
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B
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L
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L
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• T
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